[ Root has been operating on nonstop adrenaline ever since Harold let her out of the locked book cage at the library two years ago, and she understands perfectly what it's like to not take the time and space to process. You need safety for that, ideally a sympathetic ear or shoulder to cry on, and in her life there is just never any time.
Like there isn't now. This is an absurd, remarkable, miraculous second chance -- she still thinks maybe the Machine put her here on purpose, but maybe for more than one reason, now -- and Root doesn't think she'll get a third. She has to make use of it. She went from expecting to die in a war to knowing she already did. ]
We're lucky to have you, [ Root says firmly, keeping her hands clasped on his arms like she's bracing him. ] There's no one-- there's really no one else I could talk to about this.
[ Not like this. Harold isn't here. Even before she'd known they had something in common in this regard, Root had known Charles would be the right audience. ]
no subject
Like there isn't now. This is an absurd, remarkable, miraculous second chance -- she still thinks maybe the Machine put her here on purpose, but maybe for more than one reason, now -- and Root doesn't think she'll get a third. She has to make use of it. She went from expecting to die in a war to knowing she already did. ]
We're lucky to have you, [ Root says firmly, keeping her hands clasped on his arms like she's bracing him. ] There's no one-- there's really no one else I could talk to about this.
[ Not like this. Harold isn't here. Even before she'd known they had something in common in this regard, Root had known Charles would be the right audience. ]